Hallowed
by Amorisa
Summary: It was her plan, her secret. There was no changing her mind, not that he wanted to. There was no stopping her, not that he tried. He told himself he only tagged along to make sure she didn't get herself hurt or killed... not that he believed it.
1. Stone

**Author's Note**: I have a thing for sevens lately. More notes at the end.**  
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**Stone**

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Cain was up with the suns.

It was an old habit, early rising, one he could never manage to shake. Ingrained, one might have said, if that _one _happened to be Ambrose, who seemed to always be poised with an answer or opinion on hand. Cain didn't mind opinions so much – it was the questions that got to him, the constant stream of whys that bothered him to no end.

The _why _of it didn't matter so much to Cain; he knew _why_, after all. The answer was so simple that he wasn't quite sure his brainy friend would accept it at face value, were Cain ever so inclined to spread out his broken bits and share the story of this one or that.

And he never, ever was, so what did it matter, truly.

As near as Cain could ever tell, stories of the past always held more power than they necessarily had a right to. Done is done. He had long stopped trying to fight what he couldn't change, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't change this.

So he was up with the suns on that morning, dressed, waiting patiently as the first sun gained the horizon to dispel the grey haze of dawn. He had a fire started in the stove when the second sun filled the room with clean light. He went to the window. The birches down by the bend in the road were all aglow with autumn's glory.

There'd been no sign of anyone yet, but it was still early. Central City was a half-day's ride away.

After an hour and two cups of coffee, he put on a warm jacket and walked out into the morning chill. The long reeds by the creek glistened in the sunlight, but the trees deep in the shadow of the house were still white with frost. Winter wouldn't be long in coming. He felt ready this season, at least. The past few annuals had been different. Cold and desolate. It wouldn't be that way this time around – or at least, he hoped.

He put himself to work in the shop for the morning, where his mind and his hands were kept busy. There was a woman from the village had been asking for some pieces from him, a chest of drawers, a rocker for her front porch. He hadn't taken the job yet, even though she'd made the walk out to his place on three separate occasions. He had put her off, no matter the idle conversation and baked offerings, but with the cold season setting in, he'd started thinking about it again.

Winters in the O.Z. were long, dark stretches of misery, and his memory was too long and dark as it was. He didn't fancy being locked up with it while the snow heaped up to the shutters and the wind threatened to tear his roof clean off.

Even after three annuals, he still had difficulty being alone with himself.

It was mid-morning when he finally heard the sound of a car in the distance. He strolled slowly out of the shop into the sunshine, and looked out toward the road. He heard it again, that low engine hum, steady and drawing nearer, and so he pulled a rag from the pocket of his jacket and wiped the grease from his hands. He was brushing off his shirtfront, leaving a trail of wood shavings across the yard, when the car came into view, sleek and black, the sunlight glinting off the windows.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, bobbed a bit on the balls of his feet, and waited.

It was a _long_ wait, as his road was not made of Central City cobblestone, nor was it paved with brick. They never learned.

The car turned in a wide circle at his gate and parked straight and regal, as if his little house was the Ozian National Theater in Quick City, or even the crown jewel of the shining city on the hill, Alta Torretta itself. A driver in full livery got out, the crest of the Gales emblazoned in emerald thread upon his breast. All business, he didn't so much as cast a sideways glance toward Cain as he opened the rear door of the car.

For his part, Cain was on edge by then, and his hands had come out of his pockets in preemptive respect. He wondered who it was this time, who was the poor soul saddled with the burden of driving all the way out to where he'd settled himself as far as he could get from Central City and all the troubles that lived there.

He didn't guess the reason they had come. The reason was always the same.

He did, however, breathe a sigh of relief when Ambrose exited the car, pompous and officious in his travelling suit. At the sight of Cain standing there waiting, his face split into a wide grin, and he swept the hat from his head in a grand, exaggerated bow.

"Cain," he said with a laugh. He stepped forward, ready to embrace like the old friends they were and weren't, but Cain was at the ready with his hand held out. Without missing a beat, Ambrose took it up in both of his and gave it a vigorous shake. "Why on earth am I still driving all the way out here to find you? Civilization would suit you well if you'd just let it, my friend. There's been a lot of recent restoration work in the Bellicose district, and –"

Cain cut off the long-winded smalltalk he'd never had the patience for. "It's good to see you, Ambrose," he returned in greeting, as polite as he could manage while being pointedly rude. It was difficult, the old name that was once more the only name; that _other _name was an unspeakable thing. And while they all slipped up from time to time, but Cain was too tense to make that mistake now.

Instead, he got right to the point. No sense dancing around it.

"Where did you lose her this time?" he asked, trying to be amiable.

His friend waved a dismissive hand, looking out over the creek and the marshland beyond to hide the obvious guilt in his eyes. "We didn't lose her," he said. "We know precisely where we left her. The problem is that she is no longer there." He paused to laugh at the absurdity of it, but Cain didn't find it so funny. "A mere technicality, I know, but an important one, and –"

"You lost her," Cain said, and smirked. His hands went back to his jacket pockets. The morning hadn't warmed up much, despite the suns. Ambrose and his soft, warm hands only reminded him how cold he'd gotten used to being.

"I was hoping you'd say she was here," the forlorn Ambrose said, glancing back at Cain.

"But she's not here," he said. He turned, and gestured back toward the house. "What makes you think she'd come all the way out here?" He ignored the pointed look his question received, and folded his arms over his chest. "Seems to me that half the time she heads straight to Milltown, and the other, she never leaves the city to begin with."

"Hass headed out to Milltown. He's probably already there," said Ambrose. "Turning the place upside down."

That time, Cain couldn't help but laugh. "You haven't fired that poor kid yet?"

Ambrose only shrugged.

"Listen," Cain said, "you know as well as I do, she wouldn't come here. Not after the last time."

Ambrose shook his head. "Are you certain she didn't send you a telegram? A letter? She used to write you all the time."

"You know, she might have," Cain admitted, though he found himself a little ashamed in doing so. "It's been awhile since I was in the village. We could head down and check with the postmaster, if you want."

"Your mail isn't delivered? You don't live that far out."

"No, he holds it for me."

Ambrose raised a sceptical eyebrow into a well-manicured arch. "Even if it's carrying a royal seal?"

"Especially if it's carrying a royal seal. I don't want to be bothered," said Cain, far more firmly than he intended. "Besides, anything that important comes by messenger. I thought you were the one that sends me those gods-damned things, anyway."

"Yes, yes, of course," Ambrose muttered. He pursed his lips and cast a glance back at the driver, who was standing beside the still-open car door. Time was wasting; Cain could almost hear the tick-tock, tick-tock running through that miraculous brain, snug in its skull. The zipper had been gone fully two annuals now. The hat collection hid the scar and little else. "She hasn't said _anything_ –"

"Not to me," Cain said, and by the gods, he hoped that would be the end of it. "I haven't heard from her since that last trip I made into Central – which was a favour to you, you'll kindly recall. How can you have no idea where she's gone off to? You see her every day, except today, mind you –"

Ambrose narrowed his eyes. "Or yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Cain said, almost impressed. "Well, I'll tell you what. If she does end up on my doorstep, I'll bring her right back. Won't even charge you for the trouble."

"Yes, as she would be so agreeable to that," Ambrose said with a roll of his eyes.

"I'll tie her up if it comes down to it. You have my word." The oath went sour as it fell so easily off his tongue. Ambrose noticed nothing; he was eyeing up the property now, remembering, trying to forget. Cain could only wish him luck; it was what he expected to be doing for the rest of his life.

"I was sure she'd come here," said Ambrose, though it seemed to be mostly to himself. His eyes followed the well-beaten path down to the creek, and lingered for a spell on the tree by the dock, all dressed up in autumn splendour.

"Maybe a route patrol has picked her up already," Cain offered. "She could be sitting at a ranger's outpost as we speak." He reached out and clapped Ambrose on the shoulder. His friend seemed almost shocked at the spontaneous show of support.

"Maybe. You're sure she didn't –"

"She _didn't_," Cain said firmly. "Tell you what. I'll finish up here, head into the city tomorrow. I can help you look, if she isn't back by then."

That caught Ambrose's attention. "You don't mean that," he said, ready to laugh it off as Glitch would have done, let hope flit away with the faith that something else was sure to happen along. But when Cain did not laugh, nor crack a smile, his offer was given more thorough consideration. "You're _serious_? You'll come back to Central City?"

Cain nodded.

It was almost painful to see how his friend lit up then, and the guilt just kept on coming, a damned onslaught of shame, as Ambrose smiled that crooked smile of his and took up Cain's hand again.

"I'd be in your debt, Cain."

"And don't go forgetting it."

As he shook his friend's hand, Cain realized he was most likely going to hell for this. He kept up his smile and what little charm as he could muster for as long as he was able. He said goodbye and reinforced his promises as he ushered Ambrose into the backseat of the car.

"I'll see you in a few days," were his parting words.

From behind the glass, oblivious in his comfort, Ambrose gave an absent smile and waved his farewell.

Cain stood with his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he watched the car bounce and jar down his road, back toward Central City where it belonged. It picked up speed as the road curved into the trees and out of sight, where it wasn't so boggy and the going wasn't so rutted. He waited until he couldn't hear the engine anymore over the wind through the jack pines before he turned and walked slowly back toward the house.

DG was up and waiting for him, sunny as the waning morning.

"Tie me up, huh?" she asked, a teasing quirk at the corner of her mouth.

Cain felt a flush rise in his face. "Isn't polite to eavesdrop," he said, not near so cold as to warrant the chill that was coursing through him. "What are they teaching you if it isn't your manners?"

The teasing quirk became a wry twist, and she folded her arms over her chest. "Says the man who just lied through his teeth to the face of one of his nearest and dearest." She slouched out of spite, but her tone remained light, happy even. As it damn well should have been.

He went to the old wood stove to warm his hands in an attempt to avoid her eyes. Now that he had proven to her just how far he was willing to go to help her, DG had relaxed a great deal. He imagined that she'd spent the entirety of Ambrose's visit hovering near the window in his bedroom, craning her neck to ungodly angles in a vain attempt to see and hear without being seen or heard.

He couldn't blame her for listening at keyholes, not when she was so certain he would turn her over without so much as a second thought. And he certainly had thought about it when she'd showed up on his doorstep; he was by now so tired of her games. But something in those eyes of hers had him holding the door open and letting her back into his life.

There had been a trust between them once. Damned if he knew where it had gone.

When he finally looked up from the stove, his skin burning from the heat of it, he caught her staring at him, and instead of her eyes skipping coyly away as she once might have done, her gaze didn't falter and her face gave nothing away as to what thoughts fluttered through her head. Carved of stone, but for those eyes, pale as a winter storm.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asked after too long, after the silence had grown too heavy.

"The question is, are you sure you want to help me?" was her reply. She looked at him plaintively. He knew all too well what she wanted, and he knew how much it would cost to give it to her. There was no changing her mind. There never had been. After all, there she was, sitting at his table and watching him, bold as brass. The way he saw it, she wasn't giving him much of a choice but to help her.

He didn't say so, coward that he was. Instead he only nodded slowly, resigned to his fate. He ran a hand down his face, pausing over his mouth. It didn't sit right with him, just how closely she watched him. After all, he was not the one with anything to prove. Still, he was at her mercy, and with this thought, he jerked his head toward his bedroom, where her things were hidden at the back of the wardrobe.

"Then be ready to go soon," he said. "Let's just get this done."

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**Author's Note II**: This is, for me, **the** Tin Man bunny that has been nibbling on the back of my brain for longer than I care to admit. I'll say up front that I haven't forgotten about 'Til Kingdom Come, but I have no intentions of returning to it right now, if ever.

Like the first note said: Seven chapters. Questionable rating. Buckle up, bitches, a storm is coming. ;)

(I missed you guys.)


	2. Secret

**Author's Note**: Schemey schemes! This one is for my girls K and B.

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**Secret**

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They travelled to the end of his lane in silence.

She walked a few paces ahead of him, her head held high. The autumn chill had put colour in her cheeks; every so often she would glance back at him, and he'd see it as she'd smile at him. It was more than the fresh air that had improved upon her mood, though, more than the exercise or the excitement, and while he was not so arrogant as to try to guess why, he couldn't deny that there was something catching in that shy little smile she kept giving him, something that lightened even his weary step, and had him looking ahead for once, instead of behind.

It wasn't that he'd forgotten the effect she could have on him, it was just that –

It was just that maybe, somehow, he'd forgotten how to enjoy it.

He didn't give himself much time to reflect upon this personal development, however, for soon they reached the main road and were faced with the age old question of left or right, and he had no guess to go on. And so it was here that he was forced to break the short-lived contentment and silence they had settled into, in order to get down to business.

"So, you plan on telling me where we're headed at some point?"

DG turned to face him, her all wide-eyed and innocent. "South," she said, quick and articulate. It was the question she'd been waiting for him to ask, and that was the answer she'd been waiting to give.

"That's a little vague," he said, and gestured left. She hesitated – it was only for a moment, but he caught it, the hitch in her breath and the darting of her eyes into the distance and all the unknown it contained – but she recovered quickly, giving him a breezy little smile to cover her tracks.

South it was, then.

DG didn't say much as they set out. She focused for a time on adjusting her pack properly on her shoulders, humming some tune he'd never heard before. It made him smile to see her struggling with it, the worn canvas straps, the sticky buckles.

It never failed to warm his heart, for the backpack was the one he had given to her, a few months after the end of the war, on a day much like the one that must have preceded this one, a day when she'd gotten that faraway look in her eyes and the walls of Central City had suddenly seemed too small to contain her.

"_Might come in handy," _he had said. He had just come from a day at the armoury with his son, and had found her in her rooms just before dinner, hair up, gloves of silk and lace to the elbows. He remembered how odd she had been acting, the look about her, and how he'd taken a guess as to what it meant.

She'd looked so lost as she peeled off her delicate gloves to take the strange gift he offered.

He recalled watching her turn the empty rucksack over in her bare hands, then open it up to give the inside a sniff. When she'd looked at him again, she was smiling the wary smile of a child caught red-handed. She'd begun to speak, to argue, to question, but he'd shaken his head and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. She had quailed a bit then, he remembered that, her shuddering beneath the weight of his touch. The jewels in her hair had winked at him. He remembered that, too.

A week later, she was gone, and so was the pack.

It was hard to keep the news quiet from the press that first time. Her parents had been inconsolable, worried over spies and plots and storms come to whisk their angel away. Glitch had still been Glitch then, an annual away from the surgery that would finally put him to rights, and his adventuresome curiosity had nearly got the both of them killed as they halfheartedly scoured the city for their friend who didn't want to be found.

He'd always kept that story to himself, though DG had asked after it before, giddy with too many glasses of wine. He'd only smirk and mumble some apology. There were some stones in Central City that were better left unturned, and Cain thought it was usually best to leave it at that.

"So, do you think it's safe to be on the roads?" she asked, cutting into his thoughts and bringing him quickly back to the present, to this day and this secretive new journey she was so hellbent on taking.

"Safe enough on this road," he said. "This isn't private land out here, but route patrol doesn't make it out this far anyhow. There's a shortcut this side of the fields we can take to avoid the bricks and any unwanted attention." She glanced over her shoulder at him, frowning, and so he made it a point to add, "If that's what you want, princess."

"Sounds good to me," she said, and then she smiled.

Now, that there was something he'd been seeing a lot of since she'd appeared on his doorstep, that pleasant, agreeable, yes-sir smile. He didn't like it. Not because he didn't like seeing her smile, or the way nose wrinkled and her eyes lit up when she did. But he'd left Central City before that light in her eyes had gone out. Ever dimming a little more each time he saw her, he hadn't seen her smile like that in a long time, longer than he cared to admit, longer than he could truly _remember_.

But here she was, right before him, trying to make peace, to keep it. It was more than he'd done, that was for damned sure. Would it really be so difficult to give her the benefit of the doubt as to her reasons for it all?

It was then that he decided it was the least he could do – that was, until he'd worked out a bit more on his own, or until she decided to open up and trust him, or until the sandsea rose and outlanders returned, until the suns fell out of the sky.

Even though they managed to make good time through the orchards, their late start caught up with them in the lingering hours of the afternoon. The golden glow of the suns was pretty enough as they made their lazy descent in the sky, even Cain couldn't deny it, but the day had grown colder as they had crossed the fields under the watchful gaze of a pair of Papay rangers, and he wondered what she planned to do come nightfall.

There had been no harm in sticking to the trails as they crossed the fields. Route patrol was always scarce there, as the queen's men usually left Papay to control their own lands. While he was almost certain the rangers were allowing DG more distance than was usual out of respect, Cain doubted other travellers were given such freedom. It made his skin crawl, the creaking crack the runners made as they moved, the growling, the gnashing. DG seemed less affected by the Papay than he was, as she was by most things, taking it all in stride with a far-off little smile and those eyes that would drink the whole world in if they could.

Since they'd left his cabin, DG still had very little to say about her plans, and in the spirit of his recent decision, Cain hadn't pressed the matter. It would be easier to get after her later – at least, that was _his _plan. He wasn't at all sure how that would line up with hers, and it bothered him to no end. He had checked his curiosity the night before, when she had knocked on his door in the dark of night. He had given her time to open up, and even though he seemed to have rediscovered his patience, he knew it wouldn't last forever.

However, he also knew well enough how DG would react to his prying. It was a risk he was willing to take – once they were somewhere safe. He was done walking blind into the fray without a clue toward what the outcome would be. There was nothing at stake here worth doing that again – or at least, he hoped.

He'd find out soon enough.

He hoped.

Soon, the fields and the beasts that guarded them were long behind them. The brick route was ahead of them, winding off into the trees. It had grown a little darker. The golden glow was gone, dusk coming in fast as it filled the void.

Cain decided it was time to test DG again.

"So, I take it we're aiming to cross the gorge before dark," he ventured, truly and thoroughly displeased with the notion.

"That's the plan," she said absently.

He frowned. "And what's your _plan _for the checkpoint, then?"

DG only grinned, and this time, he saw a real spark there. For a moment, she was no longer shy and cautious, but something a little closer to the kid he'd met all those annuals ago, cheeky and stubborn, determined to go her own way.

At that point, he supposed that a little trouble was already overdue, considering who he was with.

It was an hour later, after the gloom of twilight had settled in properly, that he truly began to wonder about her confidence. He wasn't worried by any means – after all, DG wasn't being what one would call forthcoming with her intentions or what end she hoped to achieve. This wasn't some adventure, or some aimless walkabout. There was purpose in her step, he could see it as she marched a few paces ahead of him. The bricks beneath her feet almost seemed to straighten in her wake.

The distant murmur of the river steadily grew until it was a great, deafening rush. It wasn't long before he could see the lights of the bridge between the trees, steady beacons to draw them closer with every bend in the road.

DG had not slowed in the slightest. Cain, however, checked his step so that he fell a few more paces behind. He was better off to watch the whole thing unfold than to be the shadow lingering over her shoulder. He was ready to give the kid a little faith, and could only hope that it would pay off in the end.

The close presence of the trees came to an abrupt end then, and the deep dusky sky opened above him. In the annuals since his last perilous crossing, the forest of towering spruce and sentinel pines had been cut back by a dozen yards or so from the edge of the cliff, following the jagged line the gorge cut across the south. The winds had calmed by that point in the evening, their autumn bluster blown out for a spell, but a chill found him all the same, settled in his bones and stayed there.

There were two men in patrol uniform sitting on a rough hewn bench most likely cut from one of the trees felled from the cliff edge. The shack set back from the road looked of sturdier make. The door was wide open, a light on within to show there was no one else inside.

Only two men to guard the only central passage from north to south. What peaceful times they had lived to see.

One of the men stood, the first to notice the approaching travellers. It was then that Cain saw that route patrol this side of Central City was well armed. An interesting development. It seemed that Bowen Reid, the military governor of the southern province, had been a busy man.

Busy and _wary_.

"Hold," said the guard, who just so happened to be far too young to be giving Cain orders, let alone to a princess of the realm. His sidearm, however, lent more than enough authority. DG stopped short, as if she hadn't expected to be deterred at all.

"Nice evening," Cain said to the guard, still wondering just what the girl was up to. He came to a rest just shy of DG's right hand.

"Little late to be out walking, ain't it?" asked the guard. His partner made no move to stand, only folded his arms over his chest to watch the scene with a certain degree of smugness. Cain couldn't blame him, really. Unexpected travellers in the gloam of evening was probably the most excitement they'd seen all day.

The guard who stood before them, however, didn't seem to entertain any such notions. "Where are you two headed?" he asked.

"Byvasser," said Cain, before DG could open her mouth to respond. She shot him a glare over her shoulder, clearly unimpressed with his bluff.

"Right," said the guard with obvious disbelief. "Got word from the capital this afternoon to keep an eye out for a girl. Seems like kind of a big deal. What'd they say she looked like, Aaron?"

Aaron straightened a little on the bench, and let his eyes wander up and down DG. "Well-off, they said. Dark-haired, short." He grinned. "Kinda like you."

The first guard nodded, though there was no smile from him. "You'd better let us take a look at your travel papers," he said, and reached out, palm flat and expectant.

DG's hand fluttered up to her temple, as if to brush her hair behind her ear. She gave the guard a shy little smile. "You don't need to take a look at our papers," she said.

The guard gave an embarrassed little chuckle, as if he'd just realized his mistake. "We don't need to take a look at your papers," he confirmed.

Cain's brow furrowed as he realized what was happening. He hadn't noticed until that moment how DG's eyes had locked with the guard's – and then all of a sudden, even as Cain watched, the guard's face had softened and he took up the smallest, most faraway smile.

It was the oddest thing.

"I'm not the girl you're looking for," DG told him with a shrug.

"You're not the girl we're looking for," said the guard, still smiling that empty smile.

"Move along," DG said, and she reached out pat the guard's arm, to reassure him as if he were no more than a child.

The guard stepped out of their way. "Move along."

His partner watched silently, nodding as they passed.

Cain waited until they were well out of hearing distance before he said anything. By then, he was hard pressed to keep his voice down. He all but seized her by the arm and anchored her so she was forced to stop. She didn't recoil from his touch, but her breath caught all the same.

"And just what the hell was _that_, princess?"

Though his eyes had adjusted once more to the deep blue gloom of the forest, he couldn't see her eyes to read them. She was looking up at him, that much he knew, though he saw nothing more than the pale contours of her upturned face.

"Dramatic license?" she offered. When she was met with nothing but stony silence, she added, "Trust me, it's funny where I come from." She placed her hand on top of his, where he gripped her arm so tightly. She didn't try to pry him away, she just... just held him. It was a delicate connection.

"This how you been ducking out on your bodyguard, then?" His fingers loosened. Hers wrapped around his. She was so gods-damned _warm_.

"Pfft, no," she scoffed. "Hass is too smart to fall for that."

Cain wasn't convinced. "And me?"

She hesitated only a moment before answering, honesty winning out over charm. "You? I've never tried," she said in a small voice. "Though I'll admit I'm a little surprised you let me do that. I half expected you to break the spell by saying something."

"Saying something? Like what?"

"Something along the lines of _'and just what the hell was that, princess?'_" The imitation was uncanny. There was no doubt in his mind then that she understood the depth of his disapproval; she'd weighted it in her mind, decided it worth the risk, and moved forward with it, ready to deal with him afterwards. She sighed, almost contrite. "It's getting late, Cain. I don't want to fight. Do you really think we should stay in the village?"

He let his hand fall then with a sigh of his own. She was right. True dark was closing in fast; soon, they wouldn't be able to see the hand in front of their faces, and he was in no mood to spend the night on the ground, turning over in his mind just why in Glinneth's name he was out there in the first place.

"It wouldn't hurt any," he said. "Unless you had other plans."

"No," she said, ignoring his pointed remark. "Is it far, do you think?"

He put a hand on her back to guide her into turning, and pointed over her shoulder to the glow of torchlight in the distance. "That's our road there," he said. "Not far at all."

"Good," she said, and stepped away from his touch. Already on the move, already walking away.

He swallowed a curse, his curiosity, and his pride, and followed after her without a word.

The village of Byvasser was well-lit and scarcely guarded. A single watchman patrolled the handful of unpaved streets, but he smiled pleasantly enough as he pointed them to the inn, a narrow, three-storey building that towered over all the rest.

While DG looked around the small, cramped lobby and the photographs to be found on the wall there, Cain went on his own to find the innkeeper asleep in his office, head lolled over the back of his chair, feet up on his desk. It was difficult to rouse him. After the bell and his knocking didn't work, Cain resorted to a not-so-gentle kick that sent the man's feet crashing back down to the floor. The innkeeper sat up in his chair, straight as a schoolboy. He looked around blearily, letting loose a mumbled string of profanities.

Cain was not impressed. He knew a poppy-eyed dreamer when he saw one. He looked out the door of the office to see how much of this DG was taking in, only to realize she'd stopped to watch him, and was slowly shaking her head.

"I can't take you anywhere, can I?" she asked.

Cain snorted as he turned back to the innkeeper. "We need two rooms," he said curtly.

The innkeeper gave an exaggerated blink, as if still trying to decide if Cain was truly in front of him. "Don't got two rooms," he finally said, and yawned loudly.

"Of course you don't," Cain grumbled. "Give us what you have, then." He paid the man, who merely stuffed the notes into his pocket without even counting them. Cain then stepped out of the office to take DG's pack from her before the innkeeper had the chance.

To Cain's immeasurable relief, the room he was let into held two narrow single beds. The room was as dark, cramped, and rustically furnished as the rest of the place. He'd already seen enough gingham curtains and raw wood to make him homesick. And it was bitterly cold. He watched as DG exhaled, and eyed suspiciously the puff of fog that resulted. There was so much in her frown that he recognized in himself, but as was his way, he bit his tongue and shut the door in the innkeeper's face.

Then, he waited.

He waited until he had a fire built, he waited until after they had eaten, and she was warm and content. He waited until he was certain she was stealing peeks at him when she thought he wasn't looking. He waited until he knew she would speak to him as she used to, on all those nights spent together before he had left the city, the fire and the books, her crown and his gun, and all the space between them.

He recalled those nights with a fondness, and far too often than was wholly appropriate. The long and lonely winter months spent in his cabin tended to have him facing down all manner of demons, but he still hadn't excised this one. He wasn't sure if he ever would.

It made all this harder. It made all this easier.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed in her blue jeans, braiding her hair for the night. It was such a stark contrast to how he'd grown accustomed to seeing her, polished and glittering, a little girl lost among her capes and crinolines. _This – _this was simple and it was peaceful. It was _rare_.

He almost regretted bringing the moment to an end.

"Kiddo –"

"Yeah?"

"You still haven't told me where we're going."

She looked up at him, and gave a sad little sigh as she took in the sight of him, as he'd just done with her. He sat by the fire in a chair too austere to be comfortable, his shirtsleeves rolled up. A three-day old copy of the _Central Gazette _was in his hands, but if he'd read more than the headline, he didn't remember it. All he knew in that moment was DG.

She tried to look innocent, but those sky eyes were far too wise now, grown and weary. Any other time, it would have annoyed him, this little game of hers. It seemed, however, that the warmth and comfort of the evening had given him an abundance of patience.

"You're right, I haven't."

"Any reason why that is?"

She sat and chewed her lip awhile, hair abandoned and resting half-woven over her shoulder. "You're chastising me like a child," she pointed out. "You're not my father, and you're not my advisor, tutor, or bodyguard, so you can quit it. Why do we have to do this? Why can't you just _trust _me, Cain?"

"I seem to remember that the last time I trusted you –" he started, but she rolled her eyes at him.

"Fine, fine," she conceded, cutting him off. "We don't need to go into last time."

She was wrong. The fallout of that disaster still festered under both their skins, spoiling in its turn each attempt at resolution. Even at the very _thought_, he found it hard to reign himself in, to focus on the moment and not the ones that had led to it. After all, too much too soon and he'd wake up alone and she'd be in the wind, never to ask for his help again – and he didn't like how much that thought sent his heart to pounding.

"Where are we heading, DG?"

She bit her lip as if to contain the answer, but even that defiance was short-lived. "To the undercity," she finally said, slowly, carefully, looking up at him and wincing, as if expecting a storm. It was almost strange to hear the word roll off her tongue so easily, so informally, when before she'd known so little of the world she was born to.

The underground. It was another name for the Realm of the Unwanted, given by the residents and not the government. A name a princess shouldn't know, even one who'd made an ill-fated visit under guise of rebellion, on her quest for light and truth.

It was no place he wanted to take her, down into the dark, the danger, and the squalor. Hell, it was no place he wanted to take himself.

What could she need or want so badly, to go through all this trouble?

_One thing at a time, Wyatt_, he continued to preach to himself, _one damn thing at a time_.

"So was that so hard, then, telling me?"

She levelled him with a look. "Oh, telling you wasn't the hard part; it's dealing with you now that you know."

"Well," he said slowly, and paused to smile. That, he could understand. He put down his paper and stood to stretch. "If that's how far south you want to go, we'll need to get an early start. We should get some sleep."

Instead of agreeing with him, which would have been the simple and easy thing to do, she narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious of lies and ulterior motives after so long in the capital. He couldn't really blame her for that; he'd run as fast and as far as he could, as soon as he could.

Left her behind in the dust.

She'd never held it against him, though. No, it was always her troubles that got in their way.

"That's it?" she asked. "No arguments? No growling?"

"None," he said, as he checked the locks on the door and windows. Old habits. "Not yet, anyhow."

She wasn't appeased. "You're making me nervous," she decided, continuing to watch him like a hawk as he sat down on the edge of his bed and removed his boots.

"I know the feeling," he said as he set his boots aside.

She blinked then, blushed, and looked away.

Cain didn't bother her anymore after that. He laid down atop the coverlet of his bed, folded an arm behind his head, and closed his eyes. He listened as she moved about the room on newly graceful feet, little feather light steps too accustomed to clicky heels, to marble floors and wide echoing halls. The light dimmed as she blew out the lamp, and there was the creak of a bed frame as she slipped beneath the blankets.

It was a long while later when he opened his eyes to the soft glow from the hearth and the play of light and shadow against the wall. The fire had burned low. He lifted his head, expecting to see that DG was fast asleep, but she wasn't. She was turned on her side to face him, the blanket pulled tight to her chest. She hadn't been watching him, her eyes unfocused and distant, but when she saw that he was awake, she smiled at him.

"Thanks for coming with me, Cain," she whispered, so honest and grateful that it plucked at even his poorly tuned heartstrings. "It means a lot to me."

"I know, sweetheart," he said, but found he couldn't return the gentle smile she'd given him.

He waited until she'd turned her back to him, ready, he hoped, to close her eyes and go to sleep. The next day would be a long one, and if he knew anything about the undercity, their long day would be followed by an endless and troublesome night.

But it was what she wanted, reasons be damned, and he'd promised to help her, and watch her back. That meant following where she led, and trusting her as he'd once done. It was proving easier than he'd first anticipated, but there was no ignoring his instincts, that gnawing annoyance in the back of his mind that told him this was more than a mere holiday from the stress of the daily grind back in Central City.

It meant a lot to her, she'd said, and he believed her.

Now all that was needed was to find out why.

.

* * *

**Author's Note II**: Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, and subscribed to the first chapter - and thank you in advance if you decided to click any of those lovely buttons because of this chapter!


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